Memory
by Allume a Pense
Summary: A car accident lands Mitchie victim to amnesia in which she forgets everything from her name to how to sing. Shane stays at the Torres house in desperate attempts to make her remember herself, her talent, and him. Hope can be lost in a flash. ShaneMitchie
1. Prologue

**welcome back, everyone! long time, no see. :)  
****so, i've had this crazy idea, and i brought it up to my go-to confidante of the fan fiction type, **eatsleepbreathejonas** and she seems to like this idea. so now it's up to you, the readers, to let me know what you think!  
****i'm proud to introduce, a new full-length camp rock story: Memory.  
****sit back, relax, and enjoy!**

**soundtrack: memory **by sugarcult

* * *

**Prologue**

The gentle brunette stifled a yawn as she forced her eyes to stay open and focused on the road ahead. Cautiously, she reached beside her and picked up a half-empty cappuccino cup painted in the signature Starbucks green, bringing it to her lips. Quickly, she down a few sips before setting it back down and steadying the wheel. The radio played a gentle and flowing melody, one of which she didn't recognize but listened to anyway – a product of her laziness. As Mitchie blinked both eyes tiredly, she slowed as the approaching red light came into view.

She had spent all day running errands for her mother in preparation for Shane's arrival. Getting groceries, picking up dry cleaning, visiting the school quickly, making copies of business cards and buying extra supplies for an extra person. Mitchie's mother was feeling a bit under the weather, and the newly-licensed teen had volunteered to help out her mom; the work load indefinite to her. Now it was almost nine-o'clock at night, and Mitchie was truthfully ready to crawl into bed and sleep, even at this early night hour.

But she knew she couldn't. It wasn't humanely possible with the knowledge that _Shane was coming tomorrow_. To her house. For as long as her mother would let the welcome expire to. The excitement bubbled helplessly in her stomach, keeping her mind awake no matter how much her body pleaded with it to just fall asleep. The thought of hugging one of her closest friends again after almost a full year, the thought of being able to see him every waking moment of every day and the thought of creating music, and laughter, and memories kept her driven.

As Mitchie came to a slow stop at the red light, she reached to the side to turn the music up again. This time, it was a familiar song that both she and Shane liked, titled '_Memory_ _'_. The familiar anthem brought a smile onto her weary face. The streets were shockingly not too busy, allowing the girl to relax a bit into her seat. The stoplight turned a bright green. Quickly, Mitchie threw a glance to both approaching streets that crossed her way on the intersection. Slowly, she began to inch forward and then lowered her foot on the pedal, gliding easily across the intersection.

Before she could sense anything coming, bright headlights shone onto her left cheek. Mitchie turned to see what was making the light, and only had enough time to comprehend it as a car. Before she even had time to scream, the oncoming car slammed hard into her side, and her head slammed onto the glass window on the rebound, smashing the safety glass. Among the screeching, sirens, yelling and other assorted noises, a sickening crack of her skull was audible.

And then it was black.

* * *

**shorttt.  
****anyway, there's your prologue!  
****chapter one will be up sometime, although i don't know when, since now i've started school.  
****so what do you think? should i continue? should i delete? is this worth reading?  
****leave your thoughts, please. (:  
****much love!**


	2. White Room

**hi! so that wasn't a bad response considering the prologue only had to be around 600 words.  
****by the way – how did everyone know that? x)  
****anyway, i hope you enjoy this installment.**

**p.s. **scarlettblush**'s camp rock awards. (: looks good.**

**soundtrack: **"a little bit longer" by the jonas brothers

* * *

There was white _everywhere_.

It was almost blinding. White bed sheets, white pillows, white light shining through white-framed windowpanes, white bandages, white clothing, Mitchie's pale white skin and the white blind-friendly sign reading 'intensive care' near the door. The only color in the room was Mitchie's auburn hair and Connie Torres in all black, weeping on the side of her daughter's bed. It had been six days, thirteen hours and forty-two minutes since Connie was being called on her home phone, being notified that there was an accident.

The drunk who had run the red light was also in a critical state, although he had nothing over Mitchie. The fatigue she was suffering from prior to the accident caused her to slip into sleep after suffering the severe concussion of cracking her skull on the window. This, in turn, brought Mitchie down into an unresponsive coma, one of which she'd been peacefully resting in for her entire time in the hospital. She'd undergone already three surgeries and still, odds weren't looking good. Connie looked up and rubbed her red, puffy eyes, staring brokenly at her daughter's blank facial expression.

The door creaked, and she slowly turned to face it. A solemn-looking doctor who had been watching Mitchie's 'progress' since she was entered into the hospital walked in. Connie bowed her head in greeting, before turning back to her lamentation. "Morning, Connie. How did you sleep?" the doctor asked genuinely as he routinely began to check for any progress on Mitchie.

"Fine, thank you." Connie lied emptily. The room was silent as she watched the doctor shine a small flashlight over Mitchie's closed eyelids. "How much longer do I have to sit here and watch this?"

"The door is open anytime, Connie." he responded quietly. "The tests will be over in about five minutes."

"No, you don't understand," her voice cracked, "I meant, how much longer do I have to sit here and watch my daughter die?"

The doctor looked up from Mitchie into her mother's wary, watery eyes. He did not say anything, just sighed and closed his eyes for a moment before returning to the flashlight test. This time, there was a change in results. Mitchie's mother gripped the edge of the bed as she soon began to realize it to. "Mitchie? Mitchie can you hear me? Move something if you can." the blasé doctor even seemed to be getting worked up.

Connie's fingernails dug into the white sheets, leaving an imprint. "Mitchie? Mitchie, wake up!" she started to cry, the tears rolling hot and slow down her beaten cheeks. The doctor continued to move the flashlight on and off of Mitchie's eyes, and each time they returned, Mitchie's eyelids would flutter and wince as if she were waking up. After a few more minutes of Connie pleading with her daughter, the doctor caught a glimpse of Mitchie's chest rising and sinking.

"She's breathing on her own. I'm removing the ventilator." he worked hard and fast, and with each movement and tug of tubes, Mitchie jerked. Her mother put a hand over her mouth in disbelief watching in anxiety; praying in vain for her daughter to stir some more. More minutes rolled by, this time without the ventilator controlling Mitchie's breathing. Suddenly, as if by magic, her eyes fluttered to life.

"Mitchie!" Connie cried happily, throwing her arms around her daughter's neck, hugging and rocking as if the end of the world were tomorrow. "You're awake! It's a miracle, thank god! I was so scared! You're awake!" she cried and the doctor smiled, writing down results as he shook his head in disbelief. The room was filled with over joyous laughter and crying and hugging.

It all stopped when Mitchie ripped her body away from her mother and cowered in terror of the woman. "Get off of me!" she cried, her voice hoarse from no use. "I don't know who you are, but I'm not Mitchie, and I don't want you hugging me! Where am I? Get me out of here!" she threw her head in all different directions. There were two strangers staring intently at her – one the woman hugging and rocking her like she was her mother, and another (she presumed to be a doctor by the way he dressed) with his tired eyes wide.

Connie was shocked to say the least. She reached a tentative hand out and place it on Mitchie's shoulder, to which the teen abruptly ripped her limb away from the woman's touch. "Mitchie, don't be silly, it's me. It's your mom." the tears welled up in the woman's gray eyes once again. "Honey, don't you remember me?"

"No," Mitchie spat heatedly, tears forming in her own brown eyes, "and stop calling me Mitchie! You're not my mother!"

"What's wrong with her?" Connie directed this question at the doctor, her tone accusatory. "She acts like she has no idea who I am."

"Probably because she doesn't." the doctor stood over Mitchie's bed with a saddened look in his eyes. "Allow me to explain. My name is Dr. Richardson, and you're in the intensive care unit at the East Coast Medical Center. Your name is Michelle Elizabeth Torres, nicknamed Mitchie, and you're sixteen years old. About a week ago, you were involved in a car accident – one that is not your fault – and suffered extensive brain damage. It is my best professional guess that one of the long-term effects seems to be amnesia. We called your mother over here, Connie Torres, to the hospital and she has been at your bedside for every hour possible since the accident."

"Amnesia?" Connie cried. "So she doesn't remember anything? At all?"

"Well," Dr. Richardson began to explain, "it's very complicated, but in essence, amnesia is selective. It is random at selecting, but is selective nonetheless. Mitchie hasn't forgotten _everything_, but there are a few things that she will fail to recall." he turned to the girl on the bed and spoke calmly. "Mitchie, can you tell me what today's date is? Remember, it has been one week since you were last conscious."

Mitchie was silent for a second, as it seemed she was trying to remember. "Is it sometime in December?"

Connie began to weep again. Confusedly, Dr. Richardson turned from Connie to Mitchie and folded his hands professionally. "What makes you come to that conclusion?"

Mitchie shrugged her shoulders. "It's just really white in here."

* * *

After a few more tests, the very lonely Mitchie sat in her hospital bed, staring out the window. She couldn't believe it – how could she have a whole life that she didn't remember? She knew how to talk, she remembered simple things like how to eat and walk and what to do in the world, but she couldn't remember anything personal. What her favorite color was, her last name, what she liked to do in her spare time and her friends and family – none of it did she remember. The thought saddened her, and it came as a shock when a small sob escaped her parted pink lips.

Just as the noise polluted the room, a tear rolled down her cheek. She brushed it away and looked towards the door when there was a sharp knock. "Mitchie, you have a visitor." a nurse's voice called through. The door opened and a very handsome boy walked in, smiling widely at her. She sat back in her bed, slightly bemused as the boy made a beeline for the bedside once the nurse shut the door again.

This boy had long black hair that fell loosely into his saturated brown eyes, and a mesmerizing smile to match. The goofy grin hinted at a boyish charm that was masked with his rugged good looks. "Hey Mitch, you're awake." Mitchie couldn't help but smile – even the stranger's confused point-out-the-obvious statement sounded cute with his raspy and warm voice.

"I thought my name was Mitchie." she stated, watching as the boy took a seat where her mother had been earlier. He let out a small laugh.

"It is. You must have hit your head harder than we thought."

Mitchie shrugged. "So, I'm Mitchie _and_ Mitch? Are you the only one who calls me that?" she tried to sort out the feelings. Whoever this boy was, she liked the oblivious attention.

He cocked his head, staring intently at her empty brown eyes. "Uh, I think so. I started awhile ago. Are you feeling okay?"

Mitchie feverishly shook her head, looking down at the white bed sheets. "So, are you like, my boyfriend or something?"

Shocked at the outright statement, the raven-haired boy sat back in the chair and stared at her for a few moments. "Is there something you need to tell me?" he avoided the question by making one of his own instead. Mitchie looked up with sudden tears in her eyes – her empty, unknowing eyes – at the boy of whom she couldn't remember. He seemed panicked at her tears and immediately reached up to wipe them away, cooing softly to her as he did so. She jerked away and muttered something under her breath, to which the boy asked to be repeated.

She shook, although the room wasn't cold. "Who are you?" she whispered gently.

Taken aback, the boy simple stared on, removing his warm and calloused hand from her bed. He shook his head in slight disbelief. "Mitchie, it's me. It's Shane. What's going on?"

She choked out a few more words, her vision becoming blurred at the sight of this stranger becoming increasingly hurt. The pained look in his eyes was simply unbearable, for some reason, even if she didn't know him. She figures in her 'past life, he must have meant a lot to her. "I don't know you. I don't remember you." she turned towards the door and let out a cry, "Nurse!"

Within seconds, a middle-aged, friendly-looking nurse popped her head in the door. "Ma'am?"

"May I please see my doctor?"

"Certainly."

As the nurse left, Mitchie turned back to this boy who called himself Shane. He was still shaking his head – his black locks swaying side to side across his forehead. She tried to speak but nothing came out. There were even tears in the boy's eyes now. She looked down to notice he was holding her diagnostic clipboard from her side-table. "You don't know who I am at all?"

She shook her head.

"How is that possible?"

Shrug.

"This whole stupid accident."

Sigh.

"I'll miss you."

Silence.

* * *

**end chapter one!  
****so next, the doctor explains to shane mitchie's condition.  
****and, they find out some very interesting and sad news about her voice.  
****please review!**


	3. Gray Eyes

**remember me?  
****hey everyone! i'm so sorry this update took a long time.  
****i have had a lot of schoolwork and it's been rare for me to get on.  
****but i've read every single review and thank you so much, i'm glad you like it.**

**i have some good news!  
****chasing dreams has been nominated for best romance/fluff in **scarlettblush**'s camp rock awards!  
****check out the details on her profile, but it would mean the world to me if i won!  
****thank you again. (:**

**p.s. i don't know why i never include mitchie's dad in my stories. let's pretend he doesn't live with them anymore.**

* * *

The door opened slowly, and Dr. Richardson stepped calmly into the pallid room. Shane rose from his seat by Mitchie's bedside – the teenage girl finally gained enough trust to fall asleep with her guest still in the room. Dr. Richardson extended a hand towards the raven-haired boy, who eagerly shook it and watched as the doctor placed his clipboard on Mitchie's side table. "Good afternoon, I'm Dr. Richardson." the friendly-looking man introduced himself.

"Shane Gray." Shane replied quietly, sitting back down. His gray eyes found their way back to Mitchie's peaceful expression.

"Nice to meet you, Shane. Are you a relative of Michelle's?"

Shane shook his head. "We're very close friends. You can call her Mitchie, I'm sure that's what she'll want." Shane looked up sadly at the doctor who was cleaning and sterilizing a small patch on the crease between Mitchie's upper and forearm. A syringe filled with a clear liquid sat ready on the side table, beside other instruments. "What happened to her?" he asked emptily.

"Well, she hit her head. Pretty hard." the doctor explained calmly as he pierced her skin with the medicine. Shane watched as Mitchie's body subconsciously jerked; her eyelids tightened then released. It was almost as if the pain she was feeling was of the same magnitude on his heart. He rubbed his chest while waiting for Dr. Richardson to explain further. "That drunk driver hit her head on. She suffered from a severe concussion and her prior fatigue caused her to fall asleep while medical help was on their way. She went into a coma. And then she just woke up remembering nothing – a rare side effect of becoming unresponsive called amnesia. We don't know what triggered it or what it erased, but it definitely did something."

"People can't just not know things after they learn them." Shane argued. "That's not possible."

"Of course not." the doctor agreed as he sterilized another patch on Mitchie's wrist. There were already bandages on them from where the intravenous needles penetrated her skin. "Mitchie hasn't completely destroyed her memory. It's just somewhere in her brain, buried deep beneath some of the clutter that fell off the shelves of her mind during that earthquake of an accident. It is possible to make her remember certain things by performing tasks or activities that pertain to what was forgotten, but it is unlikely."

He stabbed another needle into Mitchie's pulsating wrists. Again, Shane jerked in his chair, shutting his eyes. "What has she forgotten?"

"Our psychologists performed some tests under Mitchie's maternal supervision. Some of the results include Mitchie forgetting her name, age, birth date, what year it is, her family and friends, and certain tasks her mother said Mitchie enjoyed to do in her leisure time."

Shane's heart sank at these words. What was he getting at? What tasks was he talking about? "Tasks?" he repeated worriedly, swallowing a large lump in his throat. "What sort of tasks do you mean?"

"Singing, the ability to write music, play the guitar and play the piano. Although I'm sure if that holds as much importance as the rest of what was lost."

Shane ran his hands through his hair and glanced tenderly at Mitchie. How could something that was once so personal and musical not remember a thing about herself? It made him want to march into the room of the drunkard who hit her and pull the tubes allowing him to breathe right out of his body. He was the one who deserved this fate, not Mitchie. Chances are, he's going to walk away with a minor scar somewhere on his body while Mitchie will live the rest of her live not remembering part of herself. Shane could feel the heat behind his eyes grow. "So, you're just saying she doesn't know how to sing anymore?"

"Well, everybody can sing naturally. Whether or not she knows all the fancy technicalities or any of the songs her mother said she wrote herself – that's anyone's best guess, even Mitchie's." again, Dr. Richardson sterilized one more patch of skin, this time on her forearm. "Like I said, I don't know why this is as big of a deal as knowing who she is."

Shane laughed bitterly. "You don't know Mitchie. You _didn't _know her. Music _was _who she was. And some bastard in the next room took that from her." Dr. Richardson didn't say anything, but stuck another needle into Mitchie's arm. As he pressed down harder on the syringe to expel the medicine inside, Shane gritted his teeth harder. "Stop it! You're hurting her!" he stood up with a fire in his eyes.

Dr. Richardson was startled but pulled the needle out anyway, placing a gauze pad over the drawn blood again. "Mr. Gray, she is sleeping!" he almost barked. Shane was breathing heavily now. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave while I finish up here."

"I'm not leaving." Shane folded his arms dejectedly and fell back down onto the chair, shutting his eyes tiredly and listening to a few rustling papers. "I don't care what you say, I'm going to make Michelle Torres remember Mitchie and me."

It was Dr. Richardson's turn to laugh bitterly now. "You're wasting your time."

"I met her when I was seventeen. I wasted seventeen years of my life looking for someone of her magnitude. For her, I can waste a few more."

* * *

Mitchie's fingertips brushed gently across a blue comforter spread neatly across a bed. The room which the bed was in was the same shade of medium blue, and was adorned with posters of assorted singers and bands. A cherry red guitar stood proudly in the corner next to a electronic keyboard fastened with a microphone in front of it. A closet to the side of the room was stocked full with colors and denim and patterns. A dog bed sat in another corner of the room, which was strewn with magazines, pens, books, and paper. It was neat, but not as neat as they kept it in the hospital, which was so far the only home Mitchie remembered.

"This is my room?" she asked in disbelief, sitting on the edge of the bed as she looked at the boy from the hospital, who was leaning in the doorway with a soft smile on his face. He nodded and walked over to her dresser, looking at the assortments of trinkets and jewelry neatly stored away in decorative boxes. This was the first time he'd seen her room, too, since Connie Torres forbade anyone including herself to set foot in the shut-off room until Mitchie came home. "Why do I have these in here?"

Shane looked over to Mitchie, who was now sitting on the stool in front of her keyboard. She ran her hands over the high-quality plastic keys, looking curiously with shining brown eyes at her instrument. She picked up the heavy guitar and set it on her lap, gently strumming all six strings at once. "You used to love to play them." Shane answered after a moment of watching her. She seemed frustrated as her fingers clumsily slipped all over the frets.

"Can you play?" she nodded over towards the acoustic that sat beside the electric that she was currently playing.

Shane shrugged. "A little bit." He was tempted to pick up the guitar and serenade her with familiar songs from the past, but he felt that the time wasn't right. Mitchie set her guitar back on its stand and walked around her room a little bit, stopping at the dresser. She opened the boxes and gazed upon chains over silver and gold, with different stones, shapes and sizes. Immediately, she picked up a gold chain with a gold key hanging off the end. Mitchie examined the necklace intently, with a few tears coming to her eyes. "Is there something wrong?" Shane asked delicately.

"I know this necklace is important to me. Its for something. But I can't remember it." she looked up at her new acquaintance with hurt in her eyes. "Why can't I remember anything? I have a whole life that I don't know anything about. It isn't fair."

"I know it isn't, Mitch. But you'll get through it, and I'll help you. Don't worry." Shane smiled comfortingly at her.

Mitchie nodded, brushing her tears away with a small smile. "Can you help me get this on?" Shane happily obliged and stepped over to Mitchie, who carefully handed him the necklace and turned to face the wall. She lifted her hair from the nape of her neck after Shane had placed the necklace on her collarbone. As he began to fasten the clip, his hands brushed the back of her neck and it sent chills up and down her spine. Yet she didn't know why. "I'm not taking this off until I figure out what it's for." she promised herself, with him as her witness. Suddenly, a colorful poster caught her eye. "Isn't that you?"

After Shane had gotten the necklace on Mitchie and she had let her hair fall, he looked towards where she was looking. Her gaze was fixated on a Connect 3 poster beside her dresser. Shane chuckled, nodding his head. "Yeah, that's me alright."

"Why do I have a poster of you and two other guys in my bedroom?"

"Maybe your a Connect 3 fan." Shane smirked arrogantly. Mitchie rolled her eyes and swatted his shoulder. The gesture made Shane smiled wider – that was something she _hadn't _forgotten that she had frequently done.

"Wait, so ...you're _famous_?" she asked in disbelief, running a hand over the poster. "And you're in a band. This is unbelievable. Am I famous, too?"

"Not yet." Shane answered. "You had a lot of talent and potential. Before the accident, we were working on getting you a record deal."

Mitchie nodded as if this news didn't affect her at all. _Same old Mitchie_, Shane thought. "Who are the other guys that you're standing with?"

"Nate and Jason, my band mates. They heard about your accident and they're finishing up a few technicalities in New York, but they'll be down soon to see how you're doing. They really miss you, Mitchie. And they can't believe this whole situation." Shane calmly explained. Mitchie turned around again, the tears back in her eyes.

"What about you? Who are you?" she repeated her question from earlier that day.

Shane sighed sadly. "I'm Shane Gray. We met at camp last year. But you better sit down, our story is pretty long."

* * *

**so now it's time to catch up!  
****thank you again for reading & reviewing.  
****please make sure to check out **scarlettblush**'s camp rock awards and vote for 'chasing dreams'!  
****thanks again. (: xo**


	4. Goodbye and Goodnight

**hey!  
****sorry i haven't been writing anything lately.  
****school is crazy. i'm up late every night.  
****but i was inspired to pick memory back up.  
****to make up for not updating, you can expect another update sometime this weekend – if the response is good!  
****anyway, please enjoy!**

**soundtrack: i will always return **by bryan adams

* * *

Mitchie nodded hesitantly at Shane's request to sit down. Nervously, she took a seat on the edge of the bed, tucking one leg neatly behind the other. As for the barely-familiar boy; he paced back in forth in front her, contemplating how to start such a story. "It all started last summer..."

Shane stopped. Mitchie looked expectantly at it. Instead of the story, Shane sat on the bed beside her and hesitantly sang a few lines from 'Gotta Find You'. Her eyes brimmed with tears at the beautiful melody, and Shane put in as much emotion as he possibly could. It wasn't the right time for their story. Her memory was too delicate – too volatile – to pollute with something he knew he wouldn't even begin to be able to describe vividly enough. At the end of the chorus, Shane looked to Mitchie for her approval.

Mitchie shook her head. "I don't remember it."

Shane felt his heart sink deeper into his chest. It felt almost as if a black hole was sucking up any remnants of feeling. It panged with hurt. "You don't remember any of it? At all?"

The girl merely shook her head. To him, she was a painting done in every shade known on earth. She was inscribed with memories and personality and familiarity. To him, she was tangible and real. To her, he was a stranger. He was gray, foreign, unknown. She knew somewhere inside of her that before, he had meant something to her. "I didn't want to forget."

"I know you didn't."

There was silence. Mitchie looked up, her tears slowly drying. She felt stupid and immature crying in front of this boy named Shane. "I was driving." The seriousness in Mitchie's tone alerted Shane to a story coming on. He stood still, eyes fixated on her the whole time. His raven black hair fell in pieces around his cloudy eyes. "And I was excited. But I was tired. It was bright, and then it was dark." Mitchie stopped, and looked down at the cream carpeting covering her bedroom floor. That too felt unfamiliar against her bare skin. "I didn't recognize my own mother. I pushed her off of me. I'm positive I'm breaking her heart and I don't even know."

Shane looked on. _Your mom's not the only one._

The auburn-haired teenager stroked a long scar running like a river up her left arm. Her right hand moved from the raised skin to the glistening gold key hanging around her neck. "I don't know what this necklace is for. But I know it's for something important. Do you know anything about it?"

Shane kept his eyes from falling onto Mitchie's bare collarbone. He hastily shook his head. It was silent again. All the silences bore holes into his mind. He knew that the silence was a product of having nothing to talk about. Having nothing to talk about was a product of Mitchie not remember who he was. Who _she _was. "I don't believe you can't remember a thing about yourself." _Or me_.

"Me neither."

"It doesn't matter. I'm _going _to make you remember." Shane spat fierily. His tone was harsh. "Somehow, someway, you're going to remember everything you are. I don't care if it takes a lifetime. Mitchie Torres, you're going to come back to me. I know you – and you haven't left."

Puzzled, Mitchie looked up and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "How do you know?"

"You never said goodbye."

* * *

At exactly 1:47 AM, Shane left Mitchie's bedroom. The girl had fallen asleep after the two uneasily talked. The boy slipped downstairs, where he noticed a dim light flooding the hardwood floor outside of the kitchen. He carefully ambled into the kitchen, where Connie Torres was bent over the kitchen table, sobbing while she looked at a photo album. At the sound of Shane's shuffling feet across the floor, Connie looked up, startled. "Oh, Shane, you scared me." she abruptly wiped away her tears.

Shane smiled warmly at her. "I'm sorry, Ms. Torres. I can't sleep. Need some company?"

The Latina fondly smiled and nodded towards the chair across from hers. Shane took a seat. "Goodness, this is embarrassing. Having my daughter's friend see me like this." she wiped away another tear and glanced down at the photo album, flipping a page. Shane caught a glimpse of a much younger looking Mitchie standing with an elderly man. Her two front teeth were missing but she was smiling as wide as ever, with the same deep dimples and the same sparkling brown eyes. "This was when she was six. With my father, Mitchie's grandfather. She ran her bicycle into a parked car that morning. Not only did she dent the door, she knocked out her two front teeth." Connie sounded congested as she managed to laugh through her tears.

"She was cute." Shane complimented politely. "She grew up to be a beautiful girl."

"Young woman." Connie Torres corrected, smiling all the while. Her mascara was smudged and she gripped a coffee mug hard with one hand, but it made her seem real. "Did you try to get her to remember?"

Shane shook his head. "She's uncomfortable around me."

"With no good reason. You're an attractive boy." Connie spoke in a maternal-like matter.

"Young man." Shane corrected, grinning. At this, Mitchie's mother couldn't help but utter a genuine laugh.

"I see why my daughter keeps you around." she smiled warmly. Shane chuckled. "You know, for the first few weeks after Camp Rock, you're all she could talk about. Something hilarious you said or something incredibly stupid, yet sweet and/or funny that you did. She genuinely cared about you."

"Ms. Torres, I really cared about Mitchie. I still do."

Connie Torres curled her lips into a smile. "She's a good girl, right down to her heart. I know that not knowing that is killing her inside. Give her time, as I'm trying to do. She'll come back to us someday. But until then, we have to be patient. It's getting late, you should head on off to bed." Ms. Torres stood up, her bones cracking beneath her. She placed her coffee mug in the sink. Shane stood up as well, heading towards the doorway.

"Right. Thanks, Ms. Torres. It's always been nice talking to you. I'll see you in the morning. Goodnight."

"Oh, and Shane?" Connie stopped the boy. He turned around, eyes awaiting the rest of her statement. "As long as you're willing to stay, our doors are always open to you."

Shane smiled. "Thank you, Ms. Torres."

She smiled back. "Goodnight."

* * *

**fillerrrr.  
****anyway, next chapter is where we get down into shane trying to familiarize mitchie with her own hometown!  
****i wrote this at 1:50 AM, so work with me here. (;  
****thank you for reading, and please let me know what you think!**


	5. Catching Lightning

**see? i promised another update sooner than normal!  
****don't ask me about my obsession with late-night posts. i'm nocturnal.  
****anyway, this is a little smitchie bonding.  
****spoiler: don't forget about the necklace. it's important or i wouldn't be hanging onto it.  
****throw some guesses out about what it's for!**

**soundtrack: can i have this dance **by vanessa hudgens and zac efron  
p.s. high school musical 3 was good! i may write something about it sometime.  
we're pretending that this song is any other song and not from a movie.

* * *

Mitchie groaned as she sat up in her dark room. Tiredly, she glanced over at her bedside clock, that read 7:09 AM on it's red digital display. With a heart heavy from grief, she looked around her lonely room in the dark. She knew it was early, but she had been forcing her eyes shut for the past few hours and couldn't take it anymore. So what if it was a Saturday morning and she was up at seven? If the "old Mitchie" wasn't a morning person, she will be now.

The brunette tossed the comforters off her shivering body. In a beam of fading moonlight, Mitchie caught a glimpse of her exposed legs. There were random bruises and scars carved into her otherwise smooth skin. It ached to push her body up and off the bed. She padded lazily around the room in the dark, running her fingers over every surface she could and could not see. When the cool sensation of glass grazed her calloused fingertips, Mitchie blindly looked up.

It was a picture frame. Mitchie took it gently between both hands and transported the frame back to her bed, where she proceeding to fumble with twisting the switch of her bedside lamp. Dim, warm, golden light flooded a five foot radius of the lamp. Her breath hitched in her throat at the sight of the photograph. It was of Shane – the boy she'd been practically shunning all last night – and herself, locked in a friendly embrace while both smiled happily at the camera. She immediately felt a rush of burning tears behind her eyes, but she brushed them away. Mitchie wasn't expecting to cry over a picture of her and boy she didn't know.

Standing up again, she made her way over to the dresser stacked high with jewelry, paper, hair products, accessories and make-up. It was then that it dawned upon her – she remembered how to apply make-up. She breezily knew how to utilize mascara and eyeliner. It puzzled Mitchie as to how she could remember an acquired attribute such as make-up application, and forget a natural talent such as singing. Silently, she covered up as much of the sleepless night she had suffered as possible, and tiptoed downstairs, still dressed in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt.

"Morning," a male voice greeted her as she offhandedly ambled into the kitchen. She must've not been completely awake yet, because the voice caught her off guard. Mitchie stumbled over the corner of her kitchen's island, smiling sheepishly as she regained her balance. Shane just laughed from his spot at the Torres' kitchen table. "You're still clumsy."

"Still?" Mitchie smiled weakly, gently stroking her wavy bed-head hair.

Shane nodded, watching as Mitchie nervously opened every single cabinet to explore their contents. "Once, you were carrying a box of chips. You tried running and obviously missed the soapy dishpan on the ground in your path. Before anyone could say anything, you slid ten feet across the wet floor, not only soaking yourself, but coating the entire kitchen at camp in tortilla chip pieces." Shane's grin stretched ear to ear as he recalled the fond memory.

Mitchie blushed in embarrassment for herself, but managed to laugh along with him at herself. "I'm glad to know I got to keep all the good qualities of a person." she sarcastically retorted, grabbing a cup and filling it up with iced tea. She remembered that she loves ice tea.

"I see more and more of you every day." Shane peered at Mitchie over the rim of his coffee cup. "Speaking of seeing you – why're you up so early? Your mom makes it sound like she has to physically pull you out of bed every morning."

Mitchie smiled and shrugged. "I can't be held accountable for my actions pre-accident."

"You're pretty lax for being a trauma victim." Shane teased. "I'm beginning to think you're pulling one over on me."

Mitchie laughed. "It's not my fault if you fall susceptible to a prank like this. That just makes you gullible."

"And you a hustler."

Mitchie rolled her eyes. Shane just smirked, silently claiming his victory. He pulled a black iPod out of his jean pocket, setting it on the kitchen table. As he untangled the earphones, he noticed Mitchie taking an unusually great interest in the device. "What's that?" she asked curiously, looking up. Her blank brown eyes were enough to make Shane feel miserable again. "Or am I supposed to know?"

"It's an iPod. An MP3 player. It holds songs on it so that I can listen to them anywhere."

"What good is that?" Mitchie wrinkled her nose. "It sounds useless. I hope you didn't spend much money on it."

"You love music." Shane argued gently, unwinding the long white earphones even more. The shiny metallic device laid still on the table. Mitchie's soft eyes studied it gently. She picked it up and it lit up, jumping to life. Mitchie was clueless when it came to operating it, but after a few failed attempts, she got the hang of it.

"I do?"

"It used to be who you were." Shane pressed. "You're a talented vocalist. Go ahead – try it."

Mitchie looked baffled at the unusual request. "You want me to sing?" Shane nodded. "Do I know how?" Again, Shane slowly nodded. "What do you want me to sing?"

"Anything that pops into your mind." Shane shrugged. Mitchie stood up and took in a few shaky breaths, settling all her trust in her throat. The first few notes to escape were raspy and unsure. Shane slightly winced. Frustrated, Mitchie shifted her sound from her voice box to her diaphragm. The sound produced was near the way it sounded before her accident. The tune that escaped Mitchie's full pink lips was familiar, and the melody was charming and romantic. It almost seemed as if the lyrics were being spoken directly to Shane, prompting him to stand up and join in.

_Take my hand, take a breath_

_Pull me close, and take one step,  
__Keep your eyes, locked on mine,  
__And let the music be your guide.  
__Won't you promise me, that you'll never forget?  
__We'll keep dancing wherever we go next._

Shane took a cautious step forward as Mitchie gained confidence in herself. Their hands intertwined and their bodies began to sway as her lips curled into a serene smile. The harmony was pitch-perfect. _That doctor doesn't know what he's talking about. I know Mitchie_. The look of confusion in her eyes alerted Shane to the knowledge that she didn't remember how to dance. Comfortingly as the duo harmonized the chorus, Shane placed a gentle hand on her hip as the other was grasped with hers off to the left of his body – the right of hers. As Shane stepped forward, Mitchie stepped back.

Nervously, after a few steps, the pair began to rotate in the cramped kitchen, still singing the romantic ballad from Mitchie's broken memory. Not once did she skip a note or a beat. It was as if she had been rehearsing this song for months. Truth be told – to Mitchie, it felt as if she was making the song up as she went. As if she were pulling up a dusty old file for the first time in years and quickly re-reading it.

_So can I have this dance?  
__Can I have this dance?_

As quickly as the song began, it ended and their perfectly blending voices stopped. For a few seconds afterwards, the two stared into each other's eyes, their bodies still close and slightly swaying like willow leaves in the breeze. And for a fraction of a second, Shane saw the look of acquaintance in Mitchie's eyes. Almost as if she _remembered _him. Just like the song, the look was gone and the spell was broken. Mitchie tore her body away from Shane's and took a good few steps backwards. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know you." Mitchie spat hastily, rushing upstairs, leaving Shane to wander aimlessly through his thoughts.

* * *

**don't worry, she's not bipolar.  
****just a little confused about her feelings.  
****it's more of a 'can it be possible to like someone you just met?'  
****but anyway, please review this one too!**


	6. Run Away

**hello again!**

**again, i'm sorry for the long wait on updates.  
****but i was sick today so it may be a good idea to do something.  
****anyway, this is pretty comforting and fluffy.  
****i think i'm going to shorten this story substantially, since i don't update it much.  
****instead of the planned 13-15 chapter story i was planning, it should only be around 9-10.  
****i also put new stuff on my profile, so be sure to check it out.  
****thanks, and enjoy!**

**soundtrack: **"red rover" **by** the scene aesthetic

* * *

As Shane gently climbed the stairs leading to Mitchie's bedroom, his mind swirled with a million thoughts. Why did she keep pushing him away? He understood that she was hurt and confused, but what was threatening about him? He was trying to stay patient, but the more Mitchie slipped into a state of uncertainty, the more his heart broke. Shane was unsure of how much abuse the beating organ in his chest could suffer before he completely gave up. He pushed his self-pity aside as he reached Mitchie's shut bedroom door. He could hear her quietly sobbing on the far side of her room, probably knelt at her windowsill.

Hesitantly, Shane reached a hand up and knocked twice on the door. Instantly, the crying stopped. "What's wrong?" he called weakly.

"Go away!"

Shane sighed gently. "Mitchie, please let me in."

"Whenever I let something in, it gets stolen from me."

Her statement puzzled Shane. It took him a moment to realize that she was talking about her memory. She felt betrayed that something as stupid as another person's mistake could cause her whole world to crumble and evidently, fall apart. "Mitchie," Shane pressed an open palm to the cool wood of her door, "are you afraid of me?"

There was a split silence. It almost seemed as if Mitchie had just passed out or something. Shane was about to speak again, but as he parted his lips, the door opened and there stood a shaking teenage girl, with mascara running in black tributaries down her cheeks. "I'm not afraid of you," her voice seemed feeble and worn out, "I'm afraid of forgetting you." With this, her body fell forward onto Shane's as she embraced him in a hug. The fond gesture caught him off guard, but he soon too melted into the warm hug.

Shane followed Mitchie into her room and sat on her bed with her beside him. She was stroking the small gold key around her neck, sniffling quietly. "Do you think you could teach me how to play the guitar?" she asked hopefully, looking up at him. He looked at her with great intensity shining in his eyes and smiled, chuckling softly as well. "You know, when you can. It just stares at me every night and it bothers me that I never play it."

"Sure." Shane grinned. "I'd be happy to teach you any day."

Mitchie smiled with approval. "Could you play me something on it? So I can hear what a song on it sounds like." She stood up and retrieved the beautiful acoustic guitar propped up in the corner beside a cherry red electric one. Carefully, she transported the instrument back to Shane, who gripped it softly in his warm calloused hands. Mitchie nodded tenderly, as if to say, 'go on.' Shane's eyes shone with approval before his fingers clumsily found the first chord in the progression.

Slowly, be began to warm up to playing a song of which he hoped that Mitchie would recognize.

_Everytime I think I'm closer to the heart  
__Of what it means to know just who I am  
__I think I've finally found a better place to start  
__That no one ever seems to understand_

As the lyrics and music poured out of the guitar and his throat, Shane searched Mitchie's eyes for any sign of recognition. Unfortunately for him, there was nothing but blank amusement. When he finished the song, he set the guitar aside as Mitchie lightly applauded him. He decided not to become disappointed because she didn't recognize such a meaningful song. Modestly, he bowed his head. "You have an amazing voice." she complimented genuinely. "And you and can play the guitar wonderfully."

"So can you." he complimented. Mitchie blushed. Shane glanced at the guitar on the bed beside the two, his eyes gliding over a beautifully bound, ruby-red book. Its pages looked like parchment, although Shane couldn't tell for sure, because it was locked with a small golden padlock.

Mitchie laughed lightly and shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe someday." The two sat in a short, awkward silence before Mitchie broke it once again. "Shane?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think there's any hope for me?"

Shane exhaled and shut his tired eyes. "I don't know, Mitch. The doctors say there's almost no chance of you remembering anything. They say I can help by reciting familiar experiences, but I don't know what to tell you. I really wish I could tell you something better than that, but that's what the experts are telling me." he shrugged, trying not to let the real hurt beneath his blasé exterior become evident.

"Yeah, but," – despite Shane's depressing conclusion, Mitchie was smiling – "I asked if _you _think there's any hope for me."

Shane couldn't help but grin. "Mitchie, you are the very _definition _of hope."

* * *

At 11:22, Shane padded quietly back to his guest bedroom. He turned on the lamp on the side-table next to his bed. Instantly, the room was tinted a few shades lighter. For some reason, he always liked dimly lit rooms more than brightly lit ones. Tiredly, he laid on top of the covers with his clothes from the day on, covering both eyes with his arms. Just as his eyes began to shut, Shane felt the irritating vibration of his cell phone in his front jean pocket begin. Groaning, he sat up and fished the device out, flipping open the top and pulling it to his ear in one swift motion. "Hello?"

"Hey man, how's she doing?"

Shane instantly recognized the voice to be his best friend's – Nate Black. He smiled slightly at the low voice. "Hey, she's alright. A little confused. How is it in California?"

"It misses you." Nate joked. "Does she remember anything at all?"

"Not really." Shane sighed defeated. "Not even her last name."

There was a short silence before Nate's sharp breath could be heard. "Fuck! That's the kind of shit that makes me so angry. Mitchie has to suffer because some idiot was drunk and ran a red light. He should be the one in this position, _not _Mitchie. For God's sake, she's one of the nicest people I've ever met. It isn't fair. Dude, I don't know how _you're _taking this but you know I'm usually the calm one and look at me now."

"It's hard on me too." Shane ran a hand through his black hair. "I know you love her, but man I _loved _her. And I was looking forward to seeing her so I could _finally _make something out of this feeling. And if I came and she didn't feel the same way, well, at least I'd know that. I'll never know that now because she doesn't recognize me at all." Shane's voice didn't mirror his words. He sounded emotionless, as if this was a speech he'd delivered a million times before. "The doctors say there's virtually no chance of her remembering."

"That's rough, man." Nate replied comfortingly. "Don't listen to them. A bunch of tests can't prove what an individual will remember and forget."

Shane smiled. Nate always knew the right thing to say. "Yeah, you're right. Thanks."

"Anytime." Shane could almost see Nate grinning on the other end of the line. "Hey, sorry we're calling so late, we just finished up an interview and we're heading back home. Jason and I will be flying out one of these days – when Rick decides to let the leash out." he joked, referring to their manager. "Just hang in there. And if you need anything, just give me a call and I don't care if I get whipped – but I'll be there."

"Thanks again, man." Shane smiled. "I'll talk to you later."

"See you later."

* * *

Abruptly, Shane sat up in bed and glanced at the digital red numbers on the table beside him. They read 2:47 AM. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes as a million thoughts rushed through his fleeting mind. Images of Mitchie stroking the golden key around her neck from the past week flashed by his eyes like a movie he couldn't shut off. Then, memories of it around her neck at Camp Rock last year flooded his mind. _That's where I knew that necklace from_! Shane thought. He got out of bed and began to pace.

Mitchie had worn that necklace every time he saw her, and never failed to take it off. _It's important. What's it for?_

And suddenly it hit him. The book on her bed. That key would unlock the secret to making Mitchie remember.

* * *

**haha, i love cliffhangers. (:  
****anyway, please review! i'll be so happy if you do.  
****also, check out my profile!  
****thank you!**


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